eleutheria

Mourning

Last Wednesday, as I waited in front of the Department of Justice for Ronald Reagan’s funeral procession, the lady standing next to me asked where I'm from. I did not answer her question. Instead, I told her that I live just a few blocks north from where we were.

I get asked that a lot, and I’m never quite sure what to say. So I’m Guatemalan—that’s where I come from, and that country’s culture will always be a big part of who I am. But I’m also, by choice, an expatriate. I left my patria, my fatherland, because I felt that I did not belong there. Plato wrote that the city you are born in is not always your city. Socrates was an Athenian born in Athens, but not everyone is that lucky. Some of us need to travel far from the land that saw our first steps, and walk on other paths, to live a life that is truly our own.

Growing up, I saw President Reagan as the face of a country I admired. He seemed so far away, and the United States seemed magnificent. Every time my parents brought me here on vacation, I secretly wished we could stay. Back home, I would spend my days glued to the TV watching everything from Who’s The Boss and Perfect Strangers, to Unsolved Mysteries and Silk Stalkings. I loved crappy American TV. I would always watch the nightly news with Adele Arakawa on Denver’s Channel 4, because for some reason, our cable company picked up all the Denver stations.

Now I live in the U.S. Now I no longer watch TV. I am where I want to be.

As the caisson carrying the President’s casket passed in front of me, I crossed myself and prayed. I lost two very dear people last month. Both of them died in Guatemala, and I was not even able to attend their funerals. Those are hard moments in an expat’s life. At times like that, you feel like you’ve betrayed part of yourself, and that you’ve let your loved ones down by not even being able to be with them when they need your support. It feels as though your past is dying, without your even being able to mourn. You feel guilty at times, because in pursuing your own happiness you have left your family behind.

My family lives in Guatemala. They watched Reagan’s funeral on TV, and they are where they want to be.

I’ve mourned Ronald Reagan’s death because he stood for many of the principles I believe in. I was saddened by his passing because people like him make me feel American. I do not know if I will ever be able to officially call myself a citizen of this country, but I know that I have found my nation. My love for its founding principles and ideals comforts me, as I realize that will never again be able to truly think of myself as Guatemalan.

PS: The picture of the caisson that you see above will be used in the opening sequence of this week's Think Tank. If you're in DC you can watch it on WETA at 10:00am and WHUT at 11:00am on Sunday. This is the first time my name will be on National TV! Oh, and you can click on the picture to see the full-size version. Who knew my little Canon digital camera would get me on TV?

Tita

Ninety-two years ago, today, my dad's mom was born. She passed away five years ago. I was lucky enough to meet three of my grandparents. My mom's dad died when he was still young (in his 50s), thanks to an... umm... incompetent doctor. But that's another story. Mamita, his wife, is still with us, and what a great woman she is! I'll write about her sometime.

Tita and Papaché (Marta and Jose Diaz-Duran) died in 1999, within three months of each other, after sixty-one years of marriage. My Mama-Tita left first. Papaché followed her. Cancer attacked her pancreas, leaving his heart to fend a battle against solitude. It makes sense that he gave up after two months. How could he go on? Yes, he had us--his children and grandchildren--and we loved him dearly. I loved him dearly. But no matter how hard it tries, a wooden arm can never fill the emptiness that an amputee has to bear.

I miss them both. I miss seeing them together. I will never forget the day she came back from the hospital, hours after we were told of her sickness. She had been away from home for a week. He had been using a wheelchair (mostly out of lazyness, I think... that's probably where I get it from). My dad was helping Tita out of the car, when he heard they were there. He got his 91-year-old ass out of the chair, walked to the garage, and a sort of magnetic force pulled her out of her son's arms, and into her husband's. "I missed you, my dear." "So did I, amorcito."

Amorcito. "Little love." The simplicity of their "little love" inspires me. Their great love taught me what life really is about. Perhaps someday I'll kick away a wheelchair to run towards mi amor. Perhaps someday I'll celebrate, as my parents did two weeks ago, 40 years of marriage. But tonight, as I sit here typing, I can do nothing but thank God for Mama-Tita, Papaché, "El Seco" and "La Chiqui." Different as the four of them are, and different as they are as couples, I've learned from them that it's okay--and worth it--to fall in love. Corny as that sounds.

Because I deserve it...

...buy me this t-shirt. Because you didn't get me anything for my birthday. Because it won't. Because this essay is nowhere near done.

bitch-slap me

I want to apologize to all of my readers--all three of you--for not posting anything lately. I have a long essay on The Odyssey due Thursday, so I've been in a sort of pissy/lazy mood. I'll start taking this blog seriously again--as seriously as I can, anyway--after school is over. In the meantime...

"Something in the air?" Give me a break!

There's "cute couples" all over the St. John's lawn... Lesbians holding hands, breeder nerds reading next to each other, and closet fags pretending to be just friends...

Fucking Spring! Is the cliche really true? What the hell is wrong with these people? I'm horny year round... What's so special about the Spring?

Ugh. I want to shoot one member of each couple and leave the survivor to rot in nostalgia and heartbreak.

What else is a bitter romantic to do?

PS:
I'm in a really good mood today... No, really.

Confused

Wasn't I supposed to grow up at some point? Wasn't I supposed to start hanging out with grown-ups?

So, why must every party I throw still end with people getting severely drunk? I don't get it.

Not to mention the fact that I look like a freakin' 12-year-old (and a flame, at that!) in most of these damn pictures...

Semana Santa

It's Holy Wednesday and everyone in Guatemala is packing their cars and heading to the beach. It's the height of Summer in "the country of eternal Spring," and I'm feeling as homesick as ever. I feel like dancing. I'm horny. I need to sweat, and I need to make someone sweat.

As I dance by myself, you can enjoy this exquisite song by Merengue legends Juan Luis Guerra y el 4:40: De Tu Boca. Here are the lyrics and the translation:

De Tu Boca

¿Y qué importa si en mis sueños no te encuentro?
Este amor que llevo dentro
no se tiñe, no se borra.

¿Y qué importa que ahora viva en tu cintura?
Como ola sin espuma
recorro el mar de tu cuerpo.

¿Y qué importa si al final lo ocupas todo
y me entrego a tu simiente,
y te entregas como siempre?

CORO:
De tu boca, dame mas que se me agota.
Tu recuerdo el último intento
de vivir en un solo cuerpo.
De tu boca, donde emigra mi ternura,
donde apago el sol de mi hoguera,
y en la sombra un beso me quema.

¿Y qué importa que
la noche vista oscuras,
si tu rostro en vez de luna
mi cuarto menguante alimenta?

¿Y qué importa que
la brisa se desnude,
si tu amor sopla de golpe
y me arrastra en una nube?

¿Y qué importa si al final lo ocupas todo
y me entrego a tu simiente,
y te entregas como siempre?

CORO (x2)

Dame mas que se me agota… (x2)

Of Your Mouth

So who cares, if I don’t find you in my dreams?
This love that I carry inside
won’t get tainted, won’t be erased.

So who cares, if I now live in your waist?
As a foamless tide,
I travel the sea of your body.

So who cares, if in the end you’re everywhere,
and I give myself to your essence,
and you give yourself as always?

CHORUS:
Of your mouth, give me more because it runs out.
Your memory is the last shot
at living in only one body…
Of your mouth, where my sweetness goes,
where I quench the sun of my blaze,
and in the shadow I’m burned by a kiss.

So who cares,
if the night wears darkness,
when your face, instead of a moon,
feeds my waning light?

So who cares,
if the breeze is naked,
if your love blows suddenly
and drags me on a cloud?

So who cares, if in the end you’re everywhere,
and I give myself to your essence,
and you give yourself as always?

CHORUS… (x2)

Give me more, because it runs out… (x2)

From The Onion...

If you find this funny, you're probably as much of a dork as I am.

Sick. Just plain sick.

Anyone out there wanna ride Jacko’s “Hot Rod?”

Marriage for... No one?!

You know, I must admit that I sort of like the idea behind this measure. After all, I do not think government should be issuing marriage licenses at all.